


Quiet Time on the Resolute

by propheticfire



Series: The Golden Age [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Exposition, Family, Gen, Introspection, M/M, Pirate!AU, Platonic Relationships, Romance, Some Fluff, Some angst, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-10-29 00:28:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10842657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/propheticfire/pseuds/propheticfire
Summary: Three quiet moments on theResolute. Three chances to reflect on what is, what was, and what could be.(A pirate!AU fic.)





	1. Jesse & Kix: Home

Kix wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, catching the sweat that threatened to drip into his eyes. In the close quarters of the lower deck, the air hung hot and heavy, laced with the spicy scent of woodsmoke. Around him, Kix could hear the soft breathing of his crewmates, asleep in their hammocks, swaying gently with the light roll of the ship. He lay there in his own hammock, looking at the planking of the deck above him. What had woken him? He never did sleep very deeply, but the sounds and smells of the _Resolute_ were a familiar backdrop now, unnoticed by his conscious mind.

Kix felt his hammock sway more sharply, as the ship tilted in time with some wave. A muffled clatter of pans and cutlery punctuated the quiet, followed by a whispered _“Shab!”_ Kix sat up. He looked around. Dogma shifted in his sleep, his breath catching briefly before settling back into its usual light snore. No one else had stirred. Kix looked to the hammock next to his own. It lay empty. Ah. Now it made sense. His awakening, the heat, the scent of woodsmoke, the sound of cooking, the empty berth.

Jesse was up to something.

Kix got to his feet and shuffled down the deck. At the doorway of the galley, he paused. A pot of some dark liquid simmered away on the woodstove, secured to the stove rail for safety. The heat pouring out of the galley made his skin prickle, and a thick mix of spices greeted his nose.

At the far side of the galley, with his back turned toward the door, stood Jesse. He had a mortar and pestle beneath his hands, and he mashed something into a paste with single-minded focus. Kix watched him. In the heat, Jesse had removed his shirt, and sweat shone on the prominent muscles of his back. They flexed beneath his skin as he put pressure on the pestle, rhythmically scraping the sides of the mortar to fold the paste over and over again. As Kix continued to watch, a soft hum rose from Jesse. A Mandalorian lullaby. Jesse reached for a bowl nearby and dumped its contents into the mortar, working it into the paste in time with the music.

Unbidden, an ache formed Kix’s chest. There was something so perfect about this moment. So wonderfully and uniquely Jesse. Part of him wanted to walk up behind Jesse and wrap his arms around him, to feel Jesse’s warmth and smell his scent, even in the overly hot and aromatic galley. Part of him wanted to creep back to his hammock and hold the memory of this pristine, uninterrupted moment in his mind as he drifted off to sleep again, a treasure that was his and his alone.

As Kix lingered in the doorway, the decision was made for him. Another wave sent the ship tilting, and as Jesse reached out to steady some bowls, he caught sight of Kix.

Jesse grinned sheepishly. “Sorry _cyare_ , did I wake you?”

“No,” Kix said automatically. He wouldn’t admit to it even if Jesse had woken him. “Just woke up. What are you doing up so early? Breakfast can’t be for another few hours, right?”

Jesse’s grin widened. He gestured to the mortar and pestle. “I picked up a few supplies last time we were in port, and morale has been somewhat…lacking, since our last run-in with the Separatists, so I thought I’d do a little something special.” He motioned for Kix to come closer, and held out the mortar for Kix to see its contents. “Remind you of something?”

Kix stepped toward Jesse’s outstretched arm. The paste in the mortar was dark, sweet-smelling, studded with chopped nuts. Combined with the aroma from the bubbling pot on the stove, it activated a very deep, very strong, and very cherished sense memory. Kix’s eyes widened in amazement.

“ _Uj’alayi_? Jesse are you…are you making uj cake?”

If it were possible for the sun to be contained in a person’s smile, Jesse had discovered it. Kix forgot how to breathe.

“It won’t be true uj cake,” Jesse said, “but I found enough spices here in the Outer Rim to more or less mimic the taste of _uj’ayl_ syrup, and I figured everyone could use a taste of home, so…” He shrugged.

Kix’s chest tightened again. The disarming smile Jesse wore belied the depth of care inherent in his actions. None of them had ever thought they would taste uj cake again for a long, long time.

In two steps Kix had closed the distance between them. He wrapped his arms around Jesse’s bare shoulders, pulling him in for a soft but needy kiss. Jesse set the mortar down and snaked his arms around Kix in return, the smile never leaving his lips as he gave in to Kix’s mouth. Oh that smile. That smile would be the death of him, Kix just knew it. That smile was his entire world.

Kix broke the kiss, the ache in his chest forcing a whimper out of him. He brought his hands to Jesse’s face, stroking his cheeks lightly as he gazed into Jesse’s eyes. Finally, he leaned forward, resting his forehead against Jesse’s. He felt Jesse’s arms wrap more tightly around him. They lingered in that moment, sharing the same breath, feeling the same heartbeat, swaying slightly with the roll of the ship.

“How did I get so lucky?” Kix whispered.

Jesse chuckled softly. “You have that the wrong way around, _cyare_.” He kissed Kix again, gently. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. Best thing this war ever brought me.”

The Separatist armada could come, could encircle the _Resolute_ and tear her apart with cannons, and Kix wouldn’t care, so long as he got to stay in this moment.

“I love you, Jesse.”

“And I love you, Kix.”

Time stood still for a while longer, until the whispers of “Hey, hey Tup!” and “What? I’m trying to sleep,” drifted into the galley. Jesse let Kix out of his embrace and turned to give the pot on the stove a quick stir.

“I suppose I should finish this, if anyone’s going to have uj cake with breakfast,” Jesse said. “You going back to sleep?”

Kix shook his head. He wouldn’t sleep now anyway, and a few more quiet moments with Jesse were worth any fatigue he might feel later. A few quiet moments with Jesse were worth his very soul.

“Feel like making yourself useful then?” Jesse asked, a teasing edge in his voice. “You make a pretty decoration, but I don’t have room for useless trinkets in my galley.”

Kix’s face flushed a little as he took the spoon out of Jesse’s hand. He stared into the pot of imitation _uj’ayl_ , letting its spiced aroma waft over him. It really did remind him of home. But home wasn’t far away Mandalore, not now. His lips quirked into a smile as Jesse paused in his mashing of the uj paste to press a warm kiss to his temple. No. No, home was much closer than that.


	2. Fives & Echo: Brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three quiet moments on the _Resolute_. Three chances to reflect on what is, what was, and what could be.  
>  (A pirate!AU fic.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up with a lot more backstory than actual plot. Please enjoy some worldbuilding.

The midday sun shone hot and bright, sending sparkling points of light dancing across the ocean surface. The light bounced up through the cabin window, thrown open to allow the breeze inside, and shimmered in patterns upon the ceiling. The sound of waves punctuated the gentle creak of wood in a cooling _slssh_.

Echo lay in his bunk, watching the reflected sunlight play on the wood. Navigational charts lay draped across his chest, forgotten in the moment. The shade of the cabin offered a calm respite from the oppressive summer sun. Of the two officers’ cabins, quartermaster Denal had one, while he had been granted the other. He counted his blessings that he was afforded such a privilege.

He wasn’t alone, though. There was a slight grunt, and a booted leg came dangling into his field of vision from the bunk above. Echo sighed and smacked at it.

“Fives, you’re interrupting my concentration.”

Another grunt came from above, louder and more indignant. “Haven’t heard those charts rustle in a while. Sounds like you’re _concentrating_ real well.” The boot did not move.

Echo sighed again. It was playful banter, and he was glad of the company, even if he would sometimes rather be left to his own thoughts. Family was everything. He wouldn’t trade his cabinmate for all the quiet time in the world. Echo closed his eyes briefly and sent up thanks that he could still be with his youngest brother.

They were only a few years apart, he and his brothers. Hevy was the eldest, then Droidbait, then himself, then Cutup, and finally Fives. Five brothers, all born a year after one another. His parents had been, as Mandalorians liked to say, “busy”. Growing up, Echo and his brothers had navigated a contentious relationship. Hevy and Fives were both headstrong, a little reckless, mirror bookends to the family. Droidbait––nicknamed for his fondness over the silly wooden dolls that the Jedi often enchanted to dance around for amusement and coin––tried his hardest to be the peacemaker, and Cutup––the family jokester––took every opportunity to land a witty comment or sarcastic barb. Which left Echo, right in the middle, feeling lost. Unable to find his place in the group, and never wanting to get in trouble, Echo would remind his brothers of whatever instructions their parents had told them. Cutup had started calling him “Echo”. Of course. Desperate to avoid his siblings’ attention, he had turned to books and maps, numbers and charts.

Everything changed when their parents died. Even with a healthy respect for the sea, tragedy can strike, and a sudden and vicious storm had taken their fishing boat as they tried to return to port. The brothers had grieved––loudly, viciously––and then bonded together more tightly than they had ever thought possible. They still looked to Hevy to lead, but Echo found himself the unexpected second, the voice of reason, and the echo of their parents became a welcome ground rather than a grating annoyance. They worked together to re-establish their family’s fishing trade, and were a stronger team and better siblings for it.

And then came the war.

Echo and Fives had been assigned to the 501st under Captain Rex. Hevy, Droidbait, and Cutup had...not. Suddenly the boys found their family split apart again. The 501st had shipped out before Echo could find out where his brothers had gone. The war between the Republic and the Separatists was fought on so many fronts that they could be halfway across the world for all Echo knew, and-––though he kept asking, at every dock and pub in every port of call––he had never gotten any information about them. All he had left was Fives.

Fives, who had proven to be a more competent sailor than almost anyone else he’d ever met. Fives, who was more headstrong than ever because of his own confidence, and not because he was trying to be like Hevy. Fives, who didn’t need anyone or anything telling him what to do, with the exception of Captain Rex, and even then only because Fives respected him and not because he was Fives’ commanding officer. Fives, who never backed down from a challenge.

Fives, who was still his little brother.

Echo would fight the sea itself for his brother.

The booted leg withdrew itself from Echo’s field of vision, only to be replaced by Fives’ head, leaning over the bunk to look down on him. “What are you working on anyway?” Fives asked. “We’re in well-charted waters.”

Echo reached for the topmost chart on his chest and waved it at Fives. “ _This_ is where we’re headed,” he replied. “And the rumors of a Separatist stronghold aren’t the only rumors about this region. The data on it is practically ancient, and speculative at best. It hasn’t been mapped well. I’ve been asking at ports for any information on this area and compiling notes.”

“Ah.” Fives paused, letting his eyes drift away. His face grew vacant, distant. “Have you been asking about…”

“Always. Every time.”

“And…”

“Still nothing.”

Fives gave a small nod and pulled his head back up out of Echo’s sight. Echo raised the chart, studying it, but soon gave up and resumed staring at the patterns of light on the ceiling. The air felt heavy all of a sudden. Words left unspoken hung in the cabin, pressing down on his chest, his head, his tongue. Words that needed to be said. Words that could never be said.

“What if we…”

Fives’ voice broke the silence. And still the air felt heavy.

“What if we never see them again?”

To hear spoken aloud the thought which Echo tried to bury every time he went to port sent a shock of pain through his heart. He bit his lip and took a deep, steadying breath. When he trusted his voice enough, he shoved the charts off of his chest and got to his feet. He looked at Fives in the top bunk. Fives stared at the half-mended fishing net in his hands, his face an outward expression of the stabbing numbness in Echo’s body.

Echo reached out and took hold of Fives’ hands, fishing net and all. “We _will_ see them again _vod’ika_.” His voice betrayed him, and he forced the words past the bitter lump in his throat. “They’re our brothers; we’ll see them again.”

Fives nodded. Echo gave his hands a comforting squeeze. “And until we do, we have each other.”

Fives lifted his eyes to meet Echo’s gaze. Tears threatened to fall, but were blinked back.Were they Fives’, or Echo’s? Did it matter? Echo climbed into the top bunk and pulled Fives into his arms, resting his chin against the top of Fives’ head. This was their moment, and theirs alone, a quiet moment with his younger brother. Echo was once again grateful for the privacy of the cabin that they shared, that no other crew member could intrude in their private world.

When Fives spoke again, it was a whisper that Echo barely caught: “I’m glad I have you, _ori’vod_.”

Echo smiled into Fives’ hair. The weight in the air lifted, brushed away by the cool ocean breeze. Echo held his brother a little closer.

“You have me, _vod’ika._ You’ll always have me.”


	3. Tup & Dogma: Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three quiet moments on the Resolute. Three chances to reflect on what is, what was, and what could be.  
> (A pirate!AU fic.)

“There. Do you see it?”

“No, I don’t. Where are you pointing?”

“There, right there. A little left of straight up.”

“Your left or my left?”

“We’re facing the same wa–– Dogma you’re not even looking!”

“Tup I have to finish smoothing this before I lose too much light. I promised the Captain I’d have it done today.”

“At least look at the first star with me. Come on.”

Dogma sighed and set down his tools on the rough-edged boards of the deck. He straightened, slowly stretching the stiff muscles of his back and shoulders. The setting sun cast his shadow long across the bow. A salt breeze, chilled by the onset of evening, blew over the gunwales and brushed past his face.

He turned to face his cousin. Tup leaned against the bow, neck craned back, searching the sky for stars. The breeze had tugged a few strands of Tup’s hair from its knot, and they fluttered against his face. He glanced back as Dogma stepped forward, then turned his attention back to the heavens.

“You should fix your hair if you’re on watch,” Dogma said, leaning on his elbows next to Tup. “It’s untidy.”

Tup rolled his eyes, but a smile quirked the corners of his mouth. “We’re not in the navy anymore, _Dogma._ ”

Dogma huffed at the emphasis on his nickname.

“And I’m not on watch anyway,” Tup continued, still looking overhead. “I just wanted to see the stars.”

Dogma glanced at Tup. In the fading light, the lines on Tup’s face looked softer. He hadn’t had those lines three years ago.

He followed Tup’s gaze to the sky, searching for the star Tup had seen. There it was, a little left of straight up, a pinprick of white against the darkening blue. Dogma wondered which one it was. Without other stars, it was still too early to tell. Back home he would have known right away. Or Tup would have. It was always a game: find the first star, yell out its constellation, wait for others to appear to confirm you were right. They had played that game since they were children. Dogma wondered at times if things would have been different if he’d had siblings of his own. Would he still have played the star game? Would it have been something else? But Tup was the closest he had to a brother, and wondering didn’t change anything, and they had their game.

Or, they used to have their game. So far from home, all the stars seemed so different, so out of place. And with the war, there didn’t seem to be much point in stargazing, not when there was work to be done. Always smoothing and reshaping and resealing and replacing. But that was why he was there, wasn’t it? The NoR had needed good carpenters. And he had convinced Tup to come with him, because how could he be without Tup? And now here they were, oceans away from the familiar, and––

“Will we ever go home?”

Dogma blinked. He wondered briefly if his own voice had betrayed his thoughts, until he heard Tup sigh. He turned to Tup, who still gazed wistfully overhead.

“I mean,” Tup continued, “I know the war is important, but when it’s done…”

“We’d have to get transport,” Dogma said automatically. “And even if we found a ship big enough to hold all the supplies for that long of a journey, then we’d need a crew to sail it. And all of those ships are gone anyway; we helped dismantle them after they shipped us to the front, remember?”

A look of sadness flickered over Tup’s face. Dogma felt his gut twist. That look hadn’t been there three years ago either. So much had changed since they joined the war, but it had happened so subtly that Dogma only noticed it in the rare moments like this, when things were still, when tasks were done. That’s when the thoughts came, tumbling through his head, wondering about home, wondering if he made the right decision, wondering if Tup secretly hated him for bringing him out here…

“If you’re not on watch, you should help me finish smoothing the deck,” Dogma said. “It’ll go faster.”

“Why do you always have to be doing something?”

“I just…need something to keep my mind occupied.”

Tup smiled a rueful smile. “I know the feeling.”

They lapsed into silence, leaning over the gunwale. As they watched, another star appeared. Then another.

“Oh!” Tup suddenly exclaimed. “It’s The Strill!”

Dogma followed the line of stars with his eyes. Sure enough, the arch of shimmering dots traced the beginning of a snout. Another star appeared, marking the eye. Tup didn’t usually need three stars to identify their favorite childhood constellation. But of course, it was in the wrong place in the sky. Reminding him just how far from childhood they’d come.

“I wonder if my baby sister knows The Strill yet,” Tup said softly. His face fell again.

“Tup she’s four,” Dogma replied. “She can’t even read yet.”

“She’ll _be_ four,” Tup corrected. He paused. His gaze drifted out of focus. “She wasn’t even a year old when we left…”

Dogma reached out his arm. For a moment, he hesitated, then he draped it over Tup’s shoulders. “Hey. You’ll get home. You’ll see your family again.” 

Despite the sentiment, Dogma felt his gut twist again. Tup wanted to go home. To his family. Of course.

A hand snaked around Dogma’s waist, and he tensed slightly. But it was only Tup, scooting closer to Dogma’s side.

“You’re my family too,” Tup said. He turned away from the skies to give Dogma a fond smile. “You’re my brother.”

Dogma tried to swallow the lump that suddenly formed in his throat. He returned the smile softly and gave Tup’s shoulder a squeeze. His mind struggled to find the words that he felt like he needed to say, but nothing came.

Tup laid his head on Dogma’s shoulder briefly. “I’m glad you’re here,” came Tup’s quiet murmur, before he picked his head up to look at the stars once more.

Dogma closed his eyes and fought the lump in his throat again.

“Me too,” he whispered.


End file.
